There were once two brothers
by bethanie-xo
Summary: Brothers always fight but in the end they'll always come home.
1. I will always come home to you

"Mycroft." A seven-year-old Sherlock Holmes padded into his older brothers room, he was only back for the weekend and then he was back off to university, leaving Sherlock alone with their parents.

"One minute," Mycroft said into the phone. He then turned to his brother and upon seeing him carrying his old teddy immediately told whoever was on the phone that he'd call them back. "Come here." He sat on the bed and pulled Sherlock onto his lap, straightening up his pajamas and ruffling his dark curls, "You know father doesn't like it when you get all messy." he whispered, as if Sigor Holmes could hear them.

"Father doesn't like anything I do." Sherlock whispered as he buried his face in Mycrofts shoulder.

"I know, but at least I left, he's stop being grumpy all the time now. Hasn't he? He promised me." Mycroft said as he rubbed his brothers back soothingly.

"No. When you left it got worse. He broke my violin. But that's not why I'm here. I had a nightmare, can I sleep with you tonight?" he looked up at Mycroft, his big, helpless, grey eyes boring into his brother.

"Of course you can." He smiled and picked Sherlock up lightly, placing him on the bed and pulling the covers up. When he lifted Sherlock his top rode up slightly and Mycroft could see the outline of a bruise, a big, dark one that only his fathers hands could give and he felt pure hatred for the man. He wanted to be here and protect his brother but how could he? He had to get educated and he hated what their father did, hated that their father had so much power that no-one ever got away with telling. "Did father do that?" Mycroft asked softly. He looked down into his brothers dark grey eyes, the same eyes that he'd always managed to help, to get out of the way of fathers blows.

Sherlock looked away at that, his eyes were sad and he rolled over, pulling Mycroft under the covers with him, hiding in his brothers strong arms. "I had a nightmare." He whispered, blatantly ignoring the question. "Myc, promise me you'll always come home?" he pleaded, his voice cracked slightly and it damn near ripped Mycrofts hear in two that any man could hurt someone as innocent as Sherlock.

He supposed that his father had this twisted power complex but he held Sherlock close. "Of course I won't leave, what was this nightmare about then? Can you tell me that, Sherly?" he whispered back. He kept the bedside lamp on, knowing that Sherlock liked it, and watched his brother carefully.

"You leaving and me being with daddy—I mean, father. Me being alone with father when he throws things or gets angry. Please don't leave again, can't you stay? I swear I'll be good and only come and sleep here when I really need to?" Sherlock's voice cracked again and he looked at Mycroft, his little hands gripped his brothers top tightly and his lispy whisper made it hard to understand, but Mycroft always understood Sherlock. That lisp, the lisp that they knew his father hated.

"Sherlock, I'll always come back to you, but I have to go back to university." Mycroft frowned, "I will always come home though, I promise."

"No! No, just don't leave please?" Sherlock gripped Mycroft tighter and refused to let go, "You can't leave! Not again!" His voice was urgent, panicked and he began breathing faster. Mycroft automatically noticed what was going on and he knew exactly what to do, this was not the first time that Sherlock had had a panic attack.

"Sherlock, shh. It's fine, I will come back, every weekend, I'll only leave when I have to, hey I got you something. I thought I'd wait until your birthday to give you it but since father broke yours I figured I could give it to you now." He smiled and spoke quietly, his voice taking a soothing note. When Sherlock breathing began to slow he sat up and pulled Sherlock to sit on his lap, "You okay? You know where you are?"

"I'm in your room. Obviously." Sherlock rolled his eyes and leaned his head against Mycroft, "I just don't want you to leave again."

Mycroft chuckled, "Well, I still have got you a new violin. My friends dad own a big violin company and I got one custom made for you. It has SH engraved on it, do you want it now?"

"You got me a violin?" Sherlock watched Mycroft curiously and stood up on his bed, letting him get up and get it.

"Yep," Mycroft went over to his wardrobe and opened it. "I was going to wait until your birthday to give it to you though." Mycroft said as he walked back to the bed with a case in his hands. He carefully opened it with Sherlock looking over his shoulder. He then pulled an oak violin out and held it up, the SH was clearly engraved in the corner and on the back it said 'Love from your big brother, Mycroft.'

"It must have cost loads." Sherlock groaned but hesitantly reached out to pick up the bow. He then took the violin from Mycroft and propped it against his chin, as a professional violinist would do. His eyes closed and he began slowly moving the bow, it nearly touched the strings but he knew father would wake up and get annoyed so he just hovered above them. He played one of beethovens symphonies in his head and then, when he finally opened his eyes it was to Mycrofts big, smiling face.

"It wasn't too expensive, and anyway it's for my brother so it was well worth it." Mycroft grinned at his brother and took the violin back, carefully placing it in the box again. "Now, Sherlock, sleep?" He smiled and put the case on the floor, placing Sherlock back under the quilt and climbing in next to him.

"Night, Myc." Sherlock whispered, his eyes closed and his breathing was already slowing into sleep.

"Night, Sherly." He whispered.


	2. He'll always be watching over you

"Watch this, Myc!" Sherlock shouted as he jumped out of the big tree, that was definitely three times the size of Mycroft, and landed safely on the ground in front of his father. Mycroft smiled and clapped but instantly began to clean off Sherlock's suit when he straightened up.

"No more jumping out of trees until you're out of that suit and into your own clothes," Mycroft said sternly, but his voice was sweet and he handed Sherlock a werthers original, this was the most amount of discipline he was able to give out to such a sweet, happy seven-year-old.

Sherlock nodded solemnly and took the sweet he was handed, popping into his mouth before pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. Snow was just beginning to lace the trees and Sherlock loved to see it falling so Mycroft left slightly earlier so Sherlock could play around for a bit.

"Who's funeral is it?" Sherlock asked suddenly as he caught a snow flake on his tongue and laughed.

"Funeral?" Mycroft hadn't recalled telling Sherlock it was a funeral, he'd just said that they were going out.

"Yes. We get dressed up in suits like this, posh ones with big brand names, for two reasons; wedding or funeral. And mother always wears a bright dress to a wedding, today she's wearing black. Father has also been really angry recently, suggesting someone died, who?" Sherlock explained.

Mycroft looked at him pitifully, this was the one thing he hoped Sherlock didn't have because, God knows, it had gotten him into some trouble and it was bound to get Sherlock into some. "Fathers boss. People are now being fired, he could lose his job." Mycroft said softly as he crouched in front of his brother.

"Oh. Okay." Sherlock shrugged and began walking to the church, all funerals were held there, at least all the ones Sherlock had ever been to.

"No, Sherlock, this way." Mycroft smiled and stretched out his hand; Sherlock took it quickly and looked up at him.

"Where are we going? The church is that way."

"We're going to a new church, with big towers and a huge room for all the deceased friends." Mycroft explained.

"But, father always said that his boss had no friends. That he was a 'grumpy, spiteful man who could barely run a metre, let alone a country.'" Sherlock rattled off what he'd heard his father say and Mycroft chuckled.

"Don't let anyone there hear you say that. He's rich, of course he has friends." Mycroft grinned and picked Sherlock up so they walked faster.

There was a long dark car waiting outside of the Holmes estate and Sherlock eyes it precariously as they climbed in. Sigor Holmes sat opposite them on his phone, Viola Holmes sat next to him in a black dress with a ridiculous hat, in Sherlock's opinion anyway.

"Mother." Sherlock began as the car began to move. "Are we staying on the estate for Christmas?" he asked softly, almost hesitantly even though he knew that she wouldn't hurt him, he doubted that she even knew their father did.

Violas head lifted and she smiled at her youngest son, "Of course we are, sweetie. What makes you ask?"

"Nanna said that we should all get together at Christmas and you said that you'll definitely get in touch about going round hers." He stated, he smiled up at her and kept his arms in his lap.

"Nanna's been taken ill." Sigor interrupted, "We won't be going to see her."

"Oh." Sherlock looked down at the floor and then his eyes were drawn to the window, the snow was so pretty when it fell and was untouched by human marks.

The car finally pulled to a stop and Sherlock marvelled at the church that stood in front, the snow landed gracefully and it was so nice to see, the spires were covered and his mouth was wide as he stared up at it.

"Sherlock, stop gaping." His father demanded before opened the car door and being instantly greeted by Susie, his secretary. "Susie, I hadn't expected to be seeing you until after Christmas." He smiled and his eyes fell to her neck, where a big, dark necklace hung, blatantly way out of her price range, "That's nice," he smirked, as if he knew something that each Holmes didn't.

Sherlock climbed out next and looked automatically to her necklace. "It is. Father got one for mother for their anniversary, didn't he mother?" Sherlock smiled. They were all out of the car now and people had drifted over to give their condolences to Sigor.

"Shut up, Sherlock." He muttered.

Violas eyes swept over the necklace and then to her husband, "No, he didn't Sherlock." She said as she crouched down in front of him, "Did you see him with one."

Sherlock nodded at her and then opened his mouth to speak, "I saw him give it to her when I went to his office once, and then I asked why he was giving it to her and not you, and then he hesitated before saying that he's giving it to her for 'insurance of its safety' and then we came home. This was 6 days before your anniversary." Sherlock informed her, his eyes never once left hers and then she straightened up and watched her husband and his secretary.

"Shut up, boy." His father growled, he instantly moved to hide behind his mother, ignoring the crowd of people that had no gathered.

It then became clear that Sherlock and Mycroft weren't the only genius' of the house, and they definitely didn't get it from their father.

"Sigor, I want you out. Go stay with your mistress over Christmas, you aren't staying with us." And with that Viola picked up her son, "And stop scaring Sherlock, he doesn't need your abuse." With those words she walked into the church and silently took her place in a pew that had three seats left, one for her, one for Sherlock and one for Mycroft.

"Listen to me, Mycroft." Sigor said in a low voice, he gripped Mycrofts writ tightly and stopped him from marching after his mother and brother into that church. "Help me, I have to have a place in that house, what will people think if I leave before Christmas? Especially with what _she_ just said about my 'abuse' to Sherlock. What will they think?" His eyes widened and his face was red, the face of many of the spectator were red with a mixture of shock and angery.

'_I knew they were having an affair'_

'_She can't have him; I have been trying for months'_

'_How could he abuse that innocent little boy?'_

Just a few of the thoughts that ran through their mind.

"I agree, what might they think? Maybe for once, dear father, they will think the truth. They will know what sort of a person you are. You cheat on your wife and you were malicious to me, still are to Sherlock. Maybe, they'll finally think the truth." He shook his fathers hand off and walked into the church, taking a seat beside his mother and smiling at them both.


	3. Christmas is always fun, right?

"Mother?" Sherlock asked from the door way. Viola Holmes was sat on the sofa staring out of the window directly ahead of her.

Her eyes lifted when she heard the voice of her youngest son and she smiled weakly.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked as he walked in slowly and sat on her lap, he wrapped her arms around his neck and she placed her own hands on his back.

"I'm fine, are you?"

Sherlock shrugged, he didn't really care much for emotions so he always tried his best to not care about anything, and he was getting better since his father left. But he looked up at his mother face and frowned, "You aren't okay. You've been crying and you started taking your depression tablets again." Sherlock said as he hugged her close.

"It's going to be alright." She said, more to herself than to him, she was the one that needed reassurance that everything would be fine.

Christmas was near, it was tomorrow actually and Sherlock had yet to wrap his presents for both his mother and Mycroft. He'd gotten Mycroft an umbrella, with a thick handle. His mother was harder to shop for but, with help from Mycroft, he'd managed to order a pair of shoes. He didn't know what to get his father so he'd just decided to play a piece on his violin but it was clear that Sigor Holmes wouldn't be coming home for Christmas.

"Where is he? He isn't at that lady's house because she's married and her husband would never let him stay there." Sherlock asked. His hands were still clutching the back of her neck but he loosened them slightly so that he could watch her.

"Mycroft tracked his card, he's staying at the Marriott Hotel in the centre of London."

"Is he coming back?" he asked tentatively. The bruises from his father's last bout of anger were still lingering on his skin and Sherlock still had yet to show his mother the extent of Sigors anger.

"He might. But I promise that he will never hurt you." Viola said as she hugged her son to her side and buried her face in his fluffy, clack halo of hair. "Where's Mycroft?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Myc said he was going to go see Anthea, but that's not her real name, she won't tell me what it is though."

"Sherlock, my dear, your cakes' ready!" Mrs Hudson, the nanny from when Mycroft was born, called from the kitchen.

Sherlock squealed in delight and jumped up off his mother, he took a hold on her hand and pulled her to the kitchen, "Look! I'm making a cake for Mycroft, but don't tell him! It's his favourite with raisins and chocolate and the icings going to be red, the same colour as the umbrella you helped me order!" The seven-year-old spoke quickly and both the women in the room laughed softly at this excitable little boy.

He pulled the cake base out and, as he said it was chocolate with raisins inside it, left it on the side and started on the icing.

"Mum! It's gone all gooey!" he complained as he jabbed a finger into his icing, if it could be called that.

"Sweetie, you've done it wrong. Come here." She placed her big, manicured hands over his and made him stir it, "Keep stirring, or shall I stir and you pour?"

"Can I pour?" He grinned and released the bowl, which clattered to the table with a bang. He grabbed the milk and watched his mother sort out the bowl again so that he could pour.

"Only a little bit, stop when I say stop... Stop. Stop, Sherlock. Stop!" She pulled the bowl away and took the milk away before it spilt on the ground. Little splashed landed on the hard, linoleum floor and she instantly went to clean it up. Out of habit.

"Sorry." Sherlock muttered. "I've never baked before."

"I can tell that." She said as she stuck a finger in the flour sack and made a white mark on his little, button nose.

"I would do that to you but there's already flour on your face." He said cheekily, he then watched her scrub at her own face trying to get it off. Sherlock kept the dab of flour on his nose; this was the first time he'd ever done anything fun with his mum when his father didn't walk in and ruin it.

"Sherlock, you cheeky boy." She grinned as she went over to the icing bowl again, "There's going to be loads left over, you know?" She said as she sprinkled a bit more icing sugar in to stabilise it and hopefully make it less runny.

"I don't mind, I lie eating icing from the bowl and I'm sure you do too. But we won't tell Mycroft." He winked as he poured some sprinkled into a bowl and got all the Christmas cake decorations from the shelf.

"Don't tell Mycroft what?" a voice came from the doorway, a cheery voice that Sherlock recognised so well.

"He's home early! Hide the cake!" Sherlock squealed, this felt good. Being a normal kid, it was fun.

"Cake? Did I hear cake? Sherlock, are you making my favourite? I smell raisins and chocolate." Mycroft walked in and saw the table, "Wow, you two have been busy. Are you feeling better, mother?" he asked as he walked up to her and handed her a card, "It's from Anthea and her family, I have their presents in the car." He smiled and dipped his finger into the icing bowl, taking a huge dab and placing it in his mouth.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock whined, "You're ruining the surprise! Get out." Sherlock grumbled.

"I knew you were doing it any way. I guessed this morning when you asked me to get the raisins from the high shelf and then ordered me out of the kitchen." Mycroft laughed, "They got something for you too Sherlock, and you can open it now because it's not actually a Christmas present." Mycroft then handed Sherlock a little square card, one of the cheap ones that you get in a pack of fifty for two pounds. "And no, it's not your proper card."

Sherlock smiled and opened it up, "'To Sherlock'," he read aloud, "'Hope this Christmas is fun, all my best wishes...' Who's that?" He asked as he looked up at Mycroft, "Wait, is that her real name? But she said she'd never tell me!"

"Well, she did. Treasure that." Mycroft said softly. "So, you guys need any help?"

"No! You can't make one half of your own Christmas present. Now, shoo!" Sherlock ordered.

Their mother laughed. "Thank them for the card, they didn't have to."

"I'm going, I'm going! And yes, they know." He grinned and walked slowly from the room.

~oOo~

"Mummy! Mummy! It's Christmas, come on! Let's see if Santa's been!"

"Oh, the imagination of a seven year old." Mycroft chuckled and followed Sherlock into their mother's bedroom. She woke up groggily and smiled at her children. "Okay, just let me get dressed and then we'll go down together." She grinned and climbed out of bed. Then, realising her husband wouldn't be there to tell her she looks a mess she just wrapped her dressing gown tightly around her and walked down stairs. Sherlock and Mycroft padded along behind her until Sherlock heard something coming from the living room.

Sherlock hung back slightly, hiding behind Mycrofts leg as he watched his mother walk into the living room, she'd heard the sound too.

"You look a mess, you could have at least got dressed." Sherlock heard it, his father's voice, and immediately ran upstairs to get into what his father deemed suitable attire for everything. He mainly ran to hide from his father for just a while longer.


	4. Merry Christmas?

"What is he doing here?" Sherlock snapped as he heard someone walk into his room, it wasn't his father, he'd learn the sound of his footsteps so well that he knew exactly when his father was coming.

"Sherlock, it's his house too." Mycrofts patient voice came through. He watched his little brother getting into a suit and immediately felt bad for him. "Mother wants some time to talk to him so we'll stay up here for a bit. Yeah? Play me something on your violin." Mycroft sat on the bed and patted the space beside him.

"Are you going back to university soon?" Sherlock asked as he picked up the case and sat next to Mycroft. He was now fully dressed in a small, tailored suit and he sat carefully so it didn't wrinkle.

"Yes, I have to. So, what are you playing then?"

"Johann Bach." He smiled, "I'm not sure which one yet, it'll come to me." He smiled and rested the violin against his chin, putting the bow to it and moving it quickly to play the piece.

"Wow, well done." Mycroft grinned when Sherlock was done, "You seem to have been practicing alot?"

"Yeah, it's much more fun when I'm not being forced to so I do it more now. And it helps me think." Sherlock smiled, "Myc, is father staying?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think mother will allow it but who knows?" Mycroft wrapped and arm around his brothers shoulders and leaned his chin in the fuzzy mess of Sherlock's hair.

"She will. She still loves him and he's going to say he's changed and she'll believe it." Sherlock frowned, "You might want to get into a suit, father is probably staying and he hates us not being in suits."

Mycroft nodded and stood up, he watched Sherlock pack his violin away before smiling at the small boy and walking out. "Are you coming?" he asked.

"No thank you, I'd rather be alone right now." Mycroft nodded again and shut the door behind him.

About ten minutes later Sherlock was laying on his bed with his hands steepled under his chin, thinking in a manner that is way too serious for a boy of his age.

"Sherlock!" He heard a voice fifteen minutes later. Female, his mothers.

He climbed off of his bed and took a deep breath before walking down the stairs and into the living room. He smiled at his father then at Mycroft who was sat on the sofa. Then he walked up to his mother, "Yes?" He asked softly.

"Your father, he's changed and he's back now. He's promised he won't cheat again," Sherlock ignored everything else his mother said and he shot a sneaky glance at Mycroft, as if to say 'I told you so.'

"Sherlock, are you listening?" Sigor Holmes asked as he stood up. He was obviously still cheating, he had that smell of perfume about him that showed he'd just come from a lovers house, it definitely wasn't his mothers perfume.

"Yes, sir." Sherlock nodded and bowed his head before moving to sit on the armchair as his mother spoke to him about how much his father wants to be more of a family man. Sherlock nodded where appropriate and then smiled at his father.

~oOo~

Sigor Holmes, where possible, avoided his youngest son. Hell, he avoided his family as much as he cold but with such a big business under his belt he had to keep up the appearances that everything was fine, he could control his kids so he could control a company.

So, what happened at the funeral had been quite a shock for most of the company, and quite frankly and embarrassment to the middle aged man. His hands gripped his knife and fork tightly as he sat down to Christmas dinner with his family, normally he would have been called off to a 'business meeting' but after Sherlock revealing his affair he couldn't go off to hers now, he had to stay, at least entertain his wife enough to make her trust him.

"Thank you mother." Sherlock smiled as Viola placed some peas on his plate. He watched his brother from across the table, nervously twiddling his knife around between his fingers. "Mycroft. Do you remember that time we went to the park and I ran all the way up the slide? And then we got ice cream before coming home? Anthea was there, wasn't she." Sherlock smiled and picked up his own knife and fork, hoping his babbling would calm Mycroft down from whatever was upsetting him.

"Yes, that's right. You had vanilla, I had coffee and Anthea had toffee, she has such a sweet tooth." Mycroft smiled fondly and then looked at Sherlock, "What about it?"

"Nothing, it was just a fun day." Sherlock shrugged and began eating as his mother sat down. "Merry Christmas, all." He said.

"Merry Christmas." Mycroft nodded and grinned at his brother, "Have you been studying hard?"

"I hope so." Sigor piped up, "Just because I was out of the house doesn't mean you should stop studying.

"Yes, father." Sherlock sighed and lifted up his hand, naming all the bones easily before going back to his turkey.

"That's a good boy." Sigor nodded his head.

Sherlock's mother grinned with joy, she was so proud of both of her sons, she never showed it enough. "You know, Sherlock, when I was your age I could barely remember the numbers past fifty, let alone all the bones of the hand." She said proudly.

"That's because Sherlock is smart." Sigor replied snappily before Sherlock could say anything.

"I'm just saying, it's a big achievement, you should be proud of your son." She sighed, she was use to these snidey remarks but she didn't have to take them anymore, she wouldn't.

"Not much to be proud of. I could name all the bones in my feet by that time."

"Honey, you were probably still sucking your feet." She snapped.

Sigors face fell at that comment and he stood up quickly, pushing the chair backwards so it fell to the floor.

"I'm not standing for this, I don't have to be here with you lot, I'm blatantly as underappreciated here as I am there!" he shouted before storming out and slamming the door.

"Don't worry mother, he's just scared that he won't get the promotion at work, he's taking it out on us for being underappre- underappreciated." He said the word slowly so he could get it out and then stood up to hug his mother, "Smile, you look pretty when you smile."


End file.
